


I'll Follow The Scent, You Just Follow My Smile

by horriblemarc, TheGracefulDarkness



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, dark au, rating will prob go up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-03-30 04:04:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3922195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horriblemarc/pseuds/horriblemarc, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGracefulDarkness/pseuds/TheGracefulDarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt does the unthinkable and honestly he doesn't think he can come back from it, he's not even sure if he want to come back from it. Basically a story where everyone around Matt watches as he slowly deteriorates away from the hero he once was. Not to mention clinging to the only source of comfort he can get: Vladimir Ranskahov.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fire and Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, (The)GracefulDarkness here shooting out another story with my bud, Marc aka ChristmasLlama1 (an amazing writer and artist btw). We're really proud of the AU and we hope you guys like it too. I have a feeling it's gonna be a long one. PS come join us on skype to get your Mattimir needs met (we don't video chat, only message together) my username is gracefuldarkness so feel free to add me and I'll bring you into the group. Also check me and Marc out on tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bloggingnstuff and http://rickyromans.tumblr.com/  
> Also feel free to comment! We love feedback (honestly we're need little babies who need praise, haha)

Matt’s ears perk up at the sound coming from out the window. Foggy’s whistle is easily heard from the three story distance as he organizes some paperwork his partner must have left from last night. The windows are open and the sun light hugs the blind lawyer’s skin like a blanket. Honestly, the comforting feeling makes his skin crawl but the hero pushes that thought aside. Instead, he continues to listen to the upbeat sound of Foggy’s steps and tune. Matt concentrates, inhaling the wafting scents from outside, smelling the other lawyer’s aftershave.

 

It would be easy to take a cab, probably a lesser risk to his suit than chancing the Manhattan streets- but Foggy likes the walk from his apartment to Nelson and Murdock. It has become almost habitual, that a few days a week Foggy would go to Matt’s apartment with breakfast before walking together to their semi-new office. Making the walk from just his apartment to the office seem like.. Well, not a walk in the park, but pretty damn near close. Foggy has woken up late that day though, so he doesn’t bother stopping by Matt’s first. Instead, he takes the shortest rout he knew to work, briefcase in hand and a tune on his lips. Not everything is okay, but not everything is horrible, either.

 

They’ve begun to lock the door to their office and Foggy has to knock just to be let in, thankfully Karen is there on the other side of the glass door in a heartbeat, unlocking it almost before Foggy could knock.

 

“What, no secret password?” Foggy jokes, stepping inside. Matt’s off to his left, shuffling papers like the damned little Catholic Scholar he is, glasses firmly in place over a small, fading bruise on the bridge of his nose.

 

“No secret password, we could smell your aftershave from a mile away,” Karen laughs, ducking her head as she brushes a strand of blond hair behind her ear. Foggy dimly wishes that they could have worked out better, but he’s not about to pick up Matt’s sloppy seconds, either. Not that Karen is sloppy, Foggy corrects himself before pausing and thinks, Oh, whatever.

 

Before Foggy can huff out a reply about his preferred amount of aftershave, Karen saves him the trouble, chirping as she walks back towards her desk, “I made coffee, and Matt brought breakfast.” Cupping a hand around her mouth, Karen stage-whispers, “He’s in a good mood.” while her eyes dart back towards the open door of Matt’s office.

 

Foggy quirks an eyebrow at that, semi-amused at the blond’s comment. “Should I go in and ruin his day with a case?”

 

Karen laughs, placing a slim hand on his shoulder. “Well, that’s the only way we’re going to get paid isn’t it? If we actually do real work for once,” Foggy didn’t get all of that, too busy taking in the fact that she’s touching him… willingly.

 

Groaning, the blond man drags his feet towards Matt’s little square of an office. “Hey, Bud,” he says closing the door behind him.

 

“Hello, Foggy. How are you today?” Matt asks, still shuffling those damn papers.

 

“Good, good. That hot-dog vendor outside my apartment continues to be the early-bird from hell,” Foggy huffs, earning a quiet laugh from the other lawyer.

 

“I, uh, I got us a new case,” he stammers after a moment, and glances up at his friend to watch his reaction.

 

Matt stops shuffling, his hands going up to adjust the glasses on his face. “Really? Is our client on the way? I don’t... Sense anyone.”

 

Foggy scratches the back of his neck. “That’s because I wanted to give you a heads up first,” he says nervously. “We’re going to them… And they’re kinda part of the chinese drug trading cartel you broke apart.”

 

Foggy likes to think he’s pretty darn good at reading his best friend. Not to be that, vomit-inducingly cliche about the whole thing, but Matt’s a pretty reserved guy. Granted, a pretty reserved guy who has a big heart and a tendency to forget that other people could see him, but a reserved guy nonetheless.

 

So he pays close attention, watching Matt’s face drop slightly, before faltering, and pushing itself into a crooked smile, lips pursed closely together.

 

“I’m glad we can help him.”

 

The words come out of Matt’s mouth a little stiffly, but Foggy knows that his best friend means what he says. Matt’s fingers pick up his papers again, running over the edge and finding an invisible page that has remained misaligned. He picks them up to tap them into place, and Foggy rolls his eyes, reaching for the papers and tugging them out of Matt’s hands.

 

“I just rolled my eyes,” Foggy states helpfully, which earns a slightly more optimistic smile from Matt. Before Foggy can say anything else - about the case, or about how Matt had a problem with those papers - Matt’s head tilts up slightly, facing the door, and a second later the doorknob turns and Karen comes in, two mismatched mugs in her hands.

 

She doesn’t falter when the two simply stare at her, awkwardness fills the air and she has a feeling that she’s interrupting something- most likely, Karen thinks. But she’s used to it by now, so instead of shuffling away, she comes in and places both mugs in front of them respectively.

 

“Why thank you, Ms. Page,” Foggy says, his words overly-formal contrasting the wide grin on his face.

 

“Thanks, Karen,” Matt echoes next to him, quieter than Foggy but no less pleased by the steaming coffee in front of him.

  
  


“No problem, guys,” she replies easily enough.

 

The silence goes on for a few moments, Matt not wanting to drag Karen into this and Foggy not sure if he should spit it out right then and there. Karen, on the other hand, is getting fed up with their bullshit. “Alright, you two, spill.”

 

“We’re going to see a blind chinese man to clear him of charges against dealing cocaine,” Foggy rushes the words out of his mouth.

 

“Is he guilty?” She asks.

 

Matt straightens his already primed tie. “That’s what we’re going to go find out.”

 

The blind lawyer stands up with Foggy and Karen scrambling after him. “We’re heading to…” Foggy trails off as he stuffs his hand into his coat pocket and pulls out a slip of paper, “to Fire and Ice. A cafe, I think.”

 

The nod Matt gives is quick. “I’ve been there. It’s based off Robert Frost’s poem, very fitting for Hell’s Kitchen.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. We get it, you like poetry and are so smooth with the writer chicks,” Foggy mocks playfully.

 

The three head outside, where it’s hot enough that even Matt looks uncomfortable in his suit and tie. Which is saying a lot, Foggy thinks, tugging at his collar, because he never shows discomfort, the guy can be like a freaking robot at times. Karen hails a cab and after the second attempt one rolls its way down the street, stopping in front of the group. They climb inside, Matt and Foggy cushioning Karen in the middle.

 

“Where to?” Asks the cabbie with an obviously fake New Yorker accent.

 

“Fire and Ice,” Matt states as he stares aimlessly out the window.

 

The cabbie grunts in response and the car jerks forward. Foggy notices his best friend’s grip on his cane, his knuckles white and his grip tense. His eyes trail up to the man’s jaw, which is locked shut and paler than usual, bringing out the nowhere-near-fading bruise on his cheek.

 

“Hey, Matty,” Foggy leans past Karen (not because he wants to accidently bump into her, Foggy insists) and pokes the blind man. “Are you okay? Really.”

 

“I just thought this all would be over, is all,” comes his strained reply.

 

Foggy isn’t quite sure what to make of his partner’s response but it’s obvious he doesn’t want to get into it. Matt, on the other hand, can’t do anything but get into it. Everything that happened last night comes back to Matt full force. Cornering Fisk in the alleyway, beating on him… Killing him. The memories swim around in his head like a smog, corrupting everything that the hero tries to keep pure and clean. Matt slumps against his seat in the cab, trying to focus on anything other than his thoughts. First he listens to the outside world of cars and pedestrians coinciding in the populated city, when that doesn’t work, he tries to key in on the throbbing of his face and ribs. That works for a while, or at least till the cab comes to a sudden stop, jerking all three of the passengers forward.

 

“Take your time getting out, the meter’s running,” barks the driver.

 

Foggy rolls his eyes and throws him some cash. “Thanks, by the way you’re pronouncing your ‘yous’ all wrong. Totally not New Yorker, more… Southern.”

  
  


Getting out of the car, they - well Karen and Foggy, Matt simply listens - watch the cab race off. “God, one of us needs to get a car,” Foggy mutters.

 

“Not me,” Matt doesn’t need to explain that one.

  
  
  


“You don’t pay me enough to afford a car,” Karen says, and after a beat Foggy realizes that both Matt and Karen had turned to face him.

 

“Lets just go inside.” Foggy says in exasperation, ushering them both into the cafe.

 

The bell chimes as the door swings open and Matt’s nose is engulfed with the aroma of coffee beans and the sweet scent of pastries. Foggy’s eyes widen at the layout of the place, which is split in half by the lighting and decor. Karen looks around and feels like she entered a foreign land that isn’t remotely near Hell’s Kitchen, New York. The room’s divided by wall-long bookshelves but from the front of the cafe, it is easy to see both sides. Right smack dab on the middle of the side panel of the first shelf is a quote: 

 

"I hold it to be the inalienable right of anybody to go to hell in his own way."

 

\- Robert Frost

 

“Damn,” whispers Foggy as he eyes the blue hue of the frozen themed left side holding people slurping on frappuccinos and other cold drinks.

 

“More like damned,” Karen mutters back as she takes in the right side of candles and fiery hues of red and orange, each of the customers drinking their own brew of hot tea or coffee.

 

Foggy tries not to laugh at that, he really does, because professional isn’t really what he, Matt, and Karen really scream, but god dammit if they don’t try for it. They still look like a bunch of college students, half the time, and Foggy has to admit that Karen is the only one of them that always manages to look like a professional.

 

Reminding himself that he did actually graduate law-school in the top of his class, Foggy makes a quick scan of the cafe and is instantly able to find the man he was looking for - a short, thin Chinese man with raybans and a fanny pack reclining in one of the booths, a cane propped up against the table. He looks like he could have been asleep he’s sitting so still, but Foggy has seen that before- Matt would get unnaturally still as well when he didn’t have anything to read or fiddle with.

 

Foggy leads Matt and Karen over to the more heated side of the cafe, beaming at Mr. Zhou when they get close enough. He knows the man is blind, but it seems impolite to just keep frowning.

 

“Mr. Zhou!” Foggy exclaims as he reaches the table, and the blind man looks up, though his face remains tilted too far to the left to actually be looking at Foggy. It’s more for appearances than anything else, he assumes.

 

“It’s Foggy Nelson. From Nelson and Murdock,” Foggy says easily, feeling Matt step up beside him, “And this is my partner, Matt Murdock.”

 

“A pleasure to meet you, Sir,” Matt nods down to the man, which Foggy finds bizarre since they’re both blind.

 

Foggy gapes when Zhou actually nods back, as if he can freaking see!

  
  


“Please, sit down.” Zhou says, and Foggy pulls out a chair for Matt, and then himself, but remains standing for another beat.

 

“Can we get you anything to drink?” He asks, unsure if that’s exactly business protocol, but this man has been through so much, it seems like the least he can do while going over the gruesome details of the case.

 

“Just a black coffee, if you wouldn’t mind.” Zhou says, and Foggy reminds himself that the Chinese man couldn’t be over twenty-five, despite his older appearance. Glancing back at Karen, Foggy holds up two fingers, and she nods, moving from the back corner to go stand in line to order.

 

Foggy sits down, Matt having already found the chair that had been pulled out for him and seating himself. The cafe’s on the quiet side, but Foggy decides that the music - classical stuff Matt likes - manages to keep their words from the ears of everyone around them.

 

Matt clears his throat and leans forward, and Foggy is somewhat relieved - not because he doesn’t want to talk to Zhou, but because Matt has been exponentially quieter than usual, and considering that Matt was already a quiet person by nature... It was making Foggy worry, slightly.

 

“Mr. Zhou.” Matt starts, and Foggy leans back in his chair, watching Matt rests his forearms on the table and intertwine his fingers, looking every inch of the lawyer he is, minus the painful looking bruise on his cheek, of course.

 

“Can you tell us what exactly you were arrested for? We understand it had to do with... Madame Gao, but we need to know any details you can give us.”

 

Zhou leans forward, and Foggy wonders if he’s the only one finding it creepy that Zhou and Matt are mimicking each other, even though they are both, y’know, blind.

 

“Where do I start?” Zhou asks, and Foggy felt bad, because the man didn’t ask it as a rhetorical, tired question - he just didn’t know.

 

“I - if you could just start at the beginning.” Foggy says, glancing towards Matt, who nods in agreement, though Foggy thinks that it’s more for his benefit than it is for Zhou. Well. Obviously.

 

Zhou sighs, sitting back. “It didn’t really get bad until Madame brought in that Russian man.”

 

Matt straightens up beside him, sits up and retracts his elbows from the table, becoming very still. Foggy takes a guess it’s because some people still think Daredevil was responsible for the bombings on the Russian mobsters that swarmed - or had swarmed - Hell’s Kitchen like rats.

 

“What Russian man?” Foggy asks, Matt’s voice layering on top of his with the same question. Weird, we haven’t done that in a while, Foggy thinks.

 

Zhou makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, and Foggy sets himself up for the disappointing answer: ‘I don’t know.’

 

“Vlad.. Vladimir, I think?” Zhou asks more than states, but Matt doesn’t give the man a chance to say anything else before he asks:

 

“Are you sure that was his name?”

 

Foggy glances at his partner - Matt’s voice has turned sharp.

 

The chinese man fiddles with his cane for a moment, thinking. “Yes,” he confirms, much to Matt’s… horror? relief? The hero isn’t quite sure. All he knows is that his heart is racing as the man once again says, “Yes. His name is Vladimir.”

  
  



	2. Cocaine and Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Vladimir is actually in this chapter, wow this is actually a Mattimir fanfiction."  
> -ChristmasLlama1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, we actually introduce the other half of this pairing in this chapter... how exciting. Just keep swimming guys, we'll get to smut sooner or later.

Karen walks back with the coffees and finds that, once again, an awkward silence has filled between the two lawyers. She sets the steaming mugs down and takes a seat next to Zhou, eyeing Matt’s strained expression. Foggy gently blows at his java while Matt calmly picks up his mug and gulps down half of its steaming contents, as if he doesn’t notice how hot it truly is.

 

“God, Matt! That was still steaming hot, are you alright?” Karen frets worriedly over her friend.

 

He nods curtly, setting the cup aside. “What else do you know about this man, Mr. Zhou? Anything can help us in helping you.”

 

“The man… he was badly injured during the bombings. Madame Gao found him in a sewer, what she was doing down there I-I have no idea. But what I do know is that she hid him from everyone, no one knew… She kept him locked up in a storage facility, one that I, uh, worked in for a time. I heard groans, yes, groaning coming from one of the doors. I thought maybe a homeless man or perhaps even a wounded animal found their way into the building but what was in there… Medical equipment, bedding, food, it was all set up for him. When I go ask Madame Gao about the man, she said there was nothing to worry about. Next day, police are in our building, ignoring everyone packing our… product except for me. They take me to back room and sit me down, threatening to throw me in jail,” the tiny man explains, somewhat disheveled as he recounts the events.

 

“This warehouse,” Matt begins, “Do you believe he’s... Vladimir’s still there? Would Gao move him after finding out you knew?”

 

Foggy watches as the man twitches nervously. “I am not quite sure. Madame, is a very… unexpecting person.”

 

“Mr. Zhou, if you have the address, that is some information that would be great use to us in helping resolve this case against you.”

 

Zhou grasps a napkin that’s set under his mug and pulls a pen out of his pack. Without looking at the slip of paper, the blind man scrawls down the address. Foggy slides the napkin from out beneath the man’s fingers and pockets the thing. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Zhou, we will get back to you on how the case progresses as soon as possible,” Foggy says.

 

“This means you are taking up my case?” The Chinese man asks hopefully.

 

“No. This means we’ll consider taking up your case, we just need to do some research of our own first,” responds Matt, ever the people person.

 

Foggy sighs, the expression mostly directed towards his partner before turning back to Zhou.

 

“In the mean time, please let us know if there’s anything we can do for you to keep you safe,” Foggy says, shooting another wary glance at Matt. Something’s up, he can tell, but whatever it is, he can't question his best friend in front of their future-client. It’ll just have to wait, Foggy tells himself, before turning his attention fully back to Zhou.

 

“There is nothing you can do that would make this situation any better besides defending me. Thank you for considering my case, Nelson and Murdock.” Zhou says, and Karen nods, giving Foggy the idea that he hasn’t missed much.

 

“Our pleasure!” Foggy grins, before elbowing Matt.

 

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Zhou,” Matt states, the words coming out of his mouth like he’s set himself on autopilot. Foggy makes a mental note to google ‘how to tell if your best friend is an android,’ just to make sure he’s prepared for the ultimate robot take over.

 

…

 

They decide to walk back to the office instead of taking another cab. The day’s still nice and sunny and Karen can’t help but feel a bit giddy about the case they’re on. Really, only so many people get to say that they’re working to help clear the name of a blind, chinese drug dealer. Actually…

 

“Did we actually find out if Zhou was, you know, innocent? I don’t think that came up…”

 

“He isn’t. But that doesn’t mean we can’t use him to help take down the rest of the organization, they need to be brought to justice,” Matt says steadily.

 

Foggy eyes Matt, somewhat shocked at the words coming out of his best friend’s mouth.“We can’t take a case just to bust open another one, Matt. It isn’t how we do things, we’re not Landman and Zach.” Foggy warns his partner,  “We left them for a reason.”

 

Matt stiffens slightly at the accusation of his actions going south. “It isn’t like that, Foggy, and you know it. If we can use Zhou to open up a criminal organization, we’d be doing this city a favor. He deserves jail time just as much as the others under Gao’s control.”

 

Karen looks at the two friends. Foggy seems uncomfortable, worry etched into his face as his eyes trail over Matt, as if looking for anything to disagree with, but he begrudgingly he nods at Matt’s logic.

 

“So,” she says, “are we going to the warehouse or what?”

 

“No,” Matt and Foggy say, not missing a beat.

 

“No? Then why get the address?”

 

Foggy says without thinking, “To give to the Devil.”

 

Karen stops in her tracks, making the two bump into her. Well Foggy bumps into Matt, which pushed him into Karen.

 

After sorting themselves out, Karen turns back around to face Foggy. Under other circumstances, she may have been interested - excited, even - in Foggy’s newfound faith in the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, but Karen is an intuitive girl, and she can tell when there’s something she isn’t being told. There’s a beat of silence, Karen’s staring at Foggy, and Foggy is looking down, and Matt is looking ahead, though slightly to the left.

 

It has to do with Matt’s ‘car accident’, Karen knows, but she has kept hoping that whatever had happened worked itself out. Obviously not.

 

“I’m not asking for you two to tell me everything right here,” Karen starts, pulling a sigh out of Matt.

 

“We don’t have time for this, Karen,” he says, sounding annoyed.

 

Karen’s used to - and frankly sick of - annoyed.

 

“And I don’t have time to worry about you two getting mixed up in things you shouldn’t be.. Getting mixed up in!” As if I have any room to talk, Karen thinks as soon as she the words burst out of her mouth.

 

“Last time I heard, the Devil was someone you trusted.”

 

“Yeah, and last I heard you didn’t!”

 

Foggy breaks up the startings of a fight, putting a hand on Matt’s chest and holding his other out towards Karen.

 

“Guys, calm down. We’re a team remember? Nelson and Murdock with you, Karen, as the glue. We can’t start fighting now, not with Fisk breaking out of police custody,” Foggy soothes the increasing tension between his two friends.

 

Matt clenches his jaw. More like laying dead in the police morgue until further notice, he thinks.

 

Karen rakes her fingers through her hair and exhales deeply. “I’m just tired of being kept out of the loop, guys. What aren’t you telling me?”

 

Foggy and Matt exchange a look, and as Foggy opens his mouth, with guilty eyes sad enough to guilt-trip a kitten, Matt interrupts him.

 

“Karen, we’re trying to keep you safe. Foggy, can I have the address? I’ll hand it off to the Devil.”

 

Foggy slides the paper into Matt’s extended hand, much to Karen’s annoyance. As the blind man begins to walk away, Karen yells after him, “Yeah, well, I never asked for your protection!”

 

Not missing a beat, Matt casually calls back over his shoulder, “I made you a promise, one that I intend to keep.”

 

...

 

Breath in. What do you smell?

 

Rain, damp cement and trash from at least eighteen different dumpsters, all over-due on a visit from the garbage truck. It isn’t something Matt ever really has to focus on, even before Stick taught him how to hone in on his abilities, it was never hard for him to understand the city around him.

 

Breath out.

 

The rain helps, it echos as it splashes against the ground and reverberates over every wall, every corner of Hell’s Kitchen. It gives Matt an instant layout in his mind, more than just an idea, it’s as close to a picture as Matt can get.

 

The address is in the outskirts of Hell’s Kitchen, right at the corner of 30th and 59th street. Nearly the middle of the border line - but Matt can’t expect anything exciting to be that far out, and most likely Madame Gao has predicted just that.

 

His suit is tight and unforgivingly thick over the armored pieces - it reminds Matt of when his father would bring home a new pair of boxing gloves, untarnished by the wear-and-tear of the ring. Overly stiff and painstakingly obvious that they’re new.

 

It fit’s though, and Matt’s last escapade has thoroughly proven the effectiveness of the armor.  

 

The warehouse is easy enough to find, even without checking the road signs - if Matt was in an any more patronizing mood, he might have said it was embarrassing that a blind man can find the warehouse, but there’s no one around but open air, so Matt keeps it to himself.

 

There’s a particular smell surrounding the warehouse, nothing compares to the electricity of actually inhaling the cocaine packed inside... But this is a sort of dulled, after-scent of the stimulant that’s mixed with the smells of plastic and chemicals and people. Of course, everywhere in Hell’s Kitchen smells like at least one of those aromas, but this is different… Something that Matt has never smelled before, almost mechanical but yet organic at the same time.

 

The one thing that catches the hero’s attention is the over-abundance of heartbeats. Matt can’t make them out individually at first - the downside of the rain that continues to beat down into every crack in Hell’s Kitchen, it almost completely drowns out Matt’s hearing -  but now that he’s close enough, it’s a little easier to listen in, to get an idea of what is actually going on.

 

They’re packing up. Matt realizes, after a beat. He doesn’t know how quickly it takes to pack up an entire warehouse full of drugs and blinded slaves, somehow Matt finds himself almost disappointed, realizing he had expected Gao to be quicker. She’s the only one to survive Fisk mostly unscathed, even the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen can’t truly hinder her, at least not yet.

 

Gao has had her time, though. Matt takes a small running start before neatly jumping off the ledge of the roof he’s been crouching upon, two buildings down from the warehouse itself.

 

The rain slides off of his suit fluidly, and Matt barely feels it as he curls his shoulder in. He hits the roof of the lower building - an abandoned duplex - with a thud and rolls to his feet, carrying the momentum of the drop with him and not missing another beat as he takes eight long strides forward, running across the length of the roof top.

 

This time when he jumps, Matt’s careful not to depend on landing on the warehouse - it’ll cause too much noise and bring unwanted attention to the hero. Instead, he twists, skidding against the cement side of the duplex until the fire-escape emerges. He kick’s off the wall and grabs at the railing of a landing, swinging up to interrupt his downwards momentum before letting himself drop to the ground, feet splashing against the flooded cement.

 

From his new vantage point, Matt can hear the steady, slightly-accelerated heart beats of people carrying boxes. There are trucks, engines killed and lights off, that they must be loading the product into. The workers are tired, giving Matt the idea they’ve been working for a while.

 

Good, Matt thinks, It’ll be easier to get rid of them.

 

It’s a gruesome thought, though not the first one that day. Even with the case to keep him distracted, he hasn’t stopped seeing Fisk dead and bleeding on out the concrete. What’s worse is that it has cracked something in Matt, nudged his moral compass just enough that he actually considered killing the workers for a split second.

 

It would disrupt Gao’s plans, part of him coaxes, she is only as strong as her legion of slaves allows. Matt shakes his head, only deciding against killing anyone for the sake of neatness. He doesn’t have time to kill that many people - he is really only looking for one man.

 

Matt scoffs when he walks barely a fourth of the way down one side of the building and finds a rusted open exit door, making it too easy to slip in behind the crates furthest away from the workers. He pauses though, listening to the shuffling and clicking of sticks against the wet ground. Matt can’t help the anger that rises up in his chest at the thought of the blind immigrants. How could someone willingly blind themselves? His thoughts seethe.

 

There’s a cascade of heartbeats - all swarming towards the front of the warehouse, thumping loudly and giving off a strong downwind stream of sweat, plastic, and rubber, along with burning fuel. It’s annoying, given that it dimly blocked Matt’s sense of smell, but he still has a good idea of where things are - large crates some empty some full, but they give Matt a fairly good sense of the distance between him and the Chinese, as well as good cover.

 

He’s slinking towards the back of the warehouse in the hopes that they won’t be keeping Vladimir out in the open, wandering aimlessly until he hears a scraping of steel against concrete, the screeching noise sets his teeth on edge.  

 

His head snaps up and he tenses at the interruption of shuffling and packing that occurs almost at the same time the grating begins. After a beat, the guards shout in chinese and stomping feet reverberate through the ground. Matt realizes in a moment that the vibrations are closing in on him, and he makes a split second decision, diving behind the big crates, with the hopes of keeping his presence unknown.

 

The grating continues, coming closer to the hero with each piercing streak against the floor. The shouting increases as the gunmen get closer and Matt’s instincts tell him to fight while he still has some aspect of surprise - the adrenaline in his body practically begging him to keep moving. There’s sudden movement to his left and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen strikes, pouncing on and bringing the threat to the floor before either of them can really comprehend what’s going on.

 

Matt, thinking it’s one of the chinese, punches the struggling man underneath him, only to jerk back in surprise at the Russian slur his captive coughs out. The hero stills, hand dropping from where it had been coiled back for another punch. Matt takes in everything about the man beneath him that he can - the taste of blood tangs his tongue and he can hear the slight wheezing with every breath he takes. Something rustles - a faint echo of the previous screeching before - near his leg… Chain links, Matt confirms after reaching down and tugging the metal on his leg. The heartbeat is familiar, strong and beating to it’s own odd tune, but more sluggish than Matt remembers. Something’s off though… Making it hard for Matt to focus on anything but the fact that there’s something missing.

 

“Vladimir?” Matt whispers.

 

“Mudak,” rasps the Russian, “Get… off.”

 

The Devil complies, gently removing himself from the obviously injured man, before folding himself into a crouch. Matt listens to his own heartbeat thump painfully against his chest at the sound of the crime lord’s voice. His skin heats up and everything grows uncomfortably warm, whether from relief or anger at the Russian’s survival, Matt doesn’t really care to know. He’s confirmed that the man is alive and now it’s up to him to… Bring him to justice or simply let him go?

 

“What are you here for, Devil?” Vladimir tries to growl but it comes out more like a faint croak.

 

“To find you,” Matt states, irritated at himself for not really thinking this through as he grabs the Russian’s wrist and hauls him into a standing position.

 

“That is well and good,” coughs the Russian, tightening his grip of the makeshift shiv in his free hand. “But I do not need saving.”

 

With those words still resonating in Matt’s head, he doesn’t quite anticipate Vladimir’s movement until it was too late, and the Russian has already shoved him down, pinning him against the concrete before pushing the jagged piece of metal up against his throat. Matt’s hands fly up to the crime lord’s wrist to keep from having his throat slit here and now. “What are you doing? I’m here to help you, asshole,” the hero hisses.

 

“No,” he growls, “you are here to whisk me to prison. I am not going from one cell to another. No more, you die here, hero.”

 

That’s when Matt makes his decision. “I’m not here to turn you in, I want to help you.”

 

The Russian bares his teeth, blood oozing from his gums - not that Matt can see any of it, rather he hears the gushing of blood welling up on the thin tissue. “Why should I believe likes of you?”

 

Matt thinks back to Fisk’s lifeless body crumpled beneath him in the alleyway. The way it felt to take a life, to make sure that someone as corrupt and polluted as Wilson Fisk can never harm anyone again. The way a surge of power jolted his system blow after blow. The way it felt to be an animal. The way it felt to win.

 

The broken crack inside of Matt shatters to pieces. He lets go of the Russian’s wrist and leans into the sharpened metal, begging him to do it. Challenging him, daring the criminal to just press a little harder. Enjoying the sting of pain as the shiv pierces his skin.

 

No longer having the burden of a man’s death on his shoulder, The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen smiles something twisted. “Because you were right about Fisk… About me.”

 

This catches the man’s interest, Matt can tell by the way his blood spikes up just a notch. He hums for the vigilante to continue.

 

“I am just like you.”

 

Vladimir barks out a quiet laugh, it’s funny how no one has found either of the troublemakers yet. “What made you realize I was right?”

 

“I killed him. I killed Fisk.”


	3. THE HERO AND THE SLIGHTLY MORE BLOODTHIRSTY HERO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Vlad is forced into a decision and it's all blood and gore for the poor baby. Nifty. A lot of fighting ensues and Matt shows his true colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so we're sorry for the long wait on this one, it's been a ride in making this chapter come to life. The translations will be at the bottom in the notes. Hope y'all enjoy :3

The shiv moves from his throat to lay across his chest, and Matt has a split second of thinking that he's going to get a clean getaway with Vladimir in tow, before the Russian's fist cracks down over Matt's cheek. It stings, the force of it sending Matt's neck twisting to the side at an uncomfortable angle, but thanks to the armor, he doubts it will leave more than a bruise. Vladimir's hand, however, seems to fare worse, Matt listens to the Russian's fingers snap in, obviously dislodging from the positions they once resided.

 

The Russian’s breath comes out in a quiet, pained whimper, but he doesn't seem to regret his decision. Matt can hear him opening his mouth, getting ready to say much more on the topic when Matt shushes him, clamping a hand over his mouth as a guard walks past them, barely three yards from where they’re curled in the shadows. Footsteps echo loud enough for even Vladimir to hear, but Matt can taste the sweat persperating from the guard’s skin, hear his blood rushing up to continue the fast pace of his heart, smell the gun oil from the metal weapon on his hip.

 

Thud, thud, thud. The guard’s foot steps recede at a steady pace, slowly making their way further into the back of the warehouse. There goes my plan for a clean escape, Matt thinks wistfully, before slowly pulling his hand off of Vladimir’s mouth. The Russian barely registers the change, eyes still steady following the guards path, making sure he doesn’t turn around. The sound of their combined heartbeats thunder in Matt’s ears, painfully loud and sounding just as panicked as everyone else's. The guards are scared, either of Vladimir,or of what Gao will do if they let him escape, Matt isn’t sure - hell, they may even be scared that The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen might make an appearance.

 

“You say you want to help, man in mask?” Vladimir says the words so quietly that Matt may have missed them if he didn’t have heightened hearing.

 

He can tell Vladimir remembers he’s supposed to blend into the shadows, that he needs to get out.

 

Matt nods once, pressing his lips together in a thin line. He half expects for Vladimir to just slit his throat right there, to be done with it and leave the mess for the Chinese to clean up. The thought thrills the hero, adrenaline pumping through his veins. There’s a pause in the air, the only sounds stretching between them are the echoes of the guards looking for the injured man.

 

Before Vladimir seems to reach a decision for himself, one of the guards shouts in Chinese, and there’s one clear word in his sentence:

 

“Ranskahov.”

 

This jerks Vladimir into action, the pressure of the blade vanishes and Matt feels the weight of the man push off of him. Matt, not wanting to lose the limping Russian in the warehouse, follows in suit, propelling himself off the ground to chase after him.

 

“Where I came in is going to be packed - we’re going to have to go through the front, if we want to make it out alive, that is,” Matt says, his voice still low just barely above a whisper,  they are so close to being discovered that the hero doesn’t want to risk voicing himself too loud. Matt makes sure no one’s near the entrance, both of them crouch low beneath a railing while he focuses intently on the front of the warehouse. No heartbeats, Matt confirms before waving for Vladimir to move.

 

The chain around Vladimir's ankle scrapes painfully loud against the concrete floor, but there’s only so much they can do for stealth now, Matt picks up the heavy links of metal and shoves the Russian in the direction of the front exit. Though he immediately has to re-evaluate this plan when Vladimir stumbles and almost falls at the sharp movement.

 

“Mudak...” Vladimir hisses and Matt doesn’t bother to ask how much pain he’s in. The last time the hero was with the criminal, he had been taking most of the Russian’s weight just to keep them moving, and now, months later he seems to be faring worse than he was before.

 

Matt follows Vladimir closely, one hand out just in case the other man loses his balance again. There’s an unnatural warmth surrounding the Russian and Matt continues to have the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that something is wrong, not just with their situation, but with Vladimir.

 

They’re halfway down the length of the warehouse - Matt can tell from the way their movements’ echoes recede from sound - when the first round of bullets fire, colliding into the wall just behind Matt. He pushes forward, careful not to trip Vladimir, whose limping gait has become something that can possibly resemble a run.

 

Matt senses a man, running towards them head on, but before he can get in front of Vladimir the taste of copper invades his tastebuds. There’s a squishing noise of what seems to be the shiv protruding into their attacker’s neck before the tell-tale sounds of gurgling bubbles out of the dying man’s mouth.

 

Vladimir lets go of the body and it drops with a dull thump on the ground.

 

“Was the really necessary?” Matt huffs, listening to the crime lord wipe the blood off on his jeans.

 

“Yes, the mudak had it coming,” Vladimir spits as he kicks the corpse, and Matt is fairly certain its more blood than saliva that flies out of his mouth.

 

“What he spit in your food?”

 

“Something like that, yes.”

 

A gun cocks to their left, and Vladimir grabs the front of Matt’s shirt, pulling him ahead to keep going, not giving Matt time to register that the bullet holes in the wall are exactly where he had been standing seconds before.

 

They make it another few yards, clumsily dodging whatever they can - a bullet just grazes Matt’s arm, but the cut’s barely deep enough to bleed, only leaving him with a small scratch and an elevated heart rate. Two more men try to stop them, this time attempting to double up and block the criminal and hero together. Matt kicks the first one down, and when he turns to address the second one, Vladimir has already unarmed him and shot him in the head - a point blank execution.

 

Matt almost says something about it again, but realizes he’s trying to force something he starting to lose understanding with; they need to focus on getting out and Vladimir’s going to do it whether or not Matt agrees with him or not.

 

Covering ground turns into fighting for it, and Matt finds himself falling into a fluid motion, working with Vladimir like they’ve been practicing together for years. Vladimir continues to loot any weaponry off of the dead bodies they leave, and Matt continues to bite his tongue.

 

Step to the left, Matt calculates his movements, always surging forward, always pushing to get closer to the exit. Vladimir steps the same way, just behind him, so close that Matt can feel his muscles absorb the recoil of his gun when he fires it.

 

“This was the worst night to break out,” Matt heaves, trying and failing to keep his breath even.

 

“And yet you are here, and I am breaking out,” Vladimir pants, and Matt frowns, hearing the pain that leaks through his voice and not being able to do anything about it.

 

More guards push in, trying to corner them into the wall - Matt breaks one’s hand, making him drop his weapon, and it earns him a swift kick to the head, sending him to the floor. He feels a hand wrapping tightly around his arm and recognizes it as Vladimir hauling him back to his feet.

 

“We do not die tonight,” Vladimir snarls, picking up one of the dead guard’s machine guns.

 

The bullets shower through the air, hitting and missing the intended targets all at once. Matt’s certain the Russian is far beyond accurate aim by this point, thanks to blood loss and the hero recognizes that he should probably do something about that. Can’t have the crime lord dying out on him… not the best result for a rescue mission, after all.

 

As more of the Chinese drop to the floor, the entire warehouse now smells of copper, cocaine, rot, and guns. Matt can barely keep from retching there and then from the intense scent, let alone keep his eyes from tearing up. Even though it’s so overpowering, the hero can still manage to catch whiffs of Vladimir’s blood oozing from his side and leg.

 

At that moment a shot rings out from one of the men’s guns and Matt hears the pained curse of Vladimir as the bullet rips through his hand, crunching past the bones and exiting the other side. Matt can hear the small piece of metal lodging itself into the wall, even as the sound of slow breathing increases to a ragged wheezing.

 

The wet gasping becomes more apparent, interspersed with racking heaves of breath that sound like they’re just on the verge of sobs. Before Matt can react, Vladimir gets enough of a hold of himself to fire off another round, bullet casings hitting the ground like sweet notes on a piano, clearing out the area in a matter of seconds. Matt counts six bodies that hit the floor after Vladimir finally releases his grip on the trigger, but as soon as they all land Matt hears a seventh drop to the ground.

 

Vladimir collapses to his knees, gripping the wrist of his unresponsive hand, which has begun bleeding profusely. Even as he wills it to move, it won’t react to any attempts he makes to use it.

 

Kneeling down, Matt starts stripping one of the dead bodies, not caring at being seen at this point. He tears the shirt and pants into strips and proceeds to crawl over to the now-sitting Russian.

 

“Lift up your shirt,” he commands.

 

Vladimir doesn’t respond to the Devil, not exactly comprehending what he’s asking. Frustration leeks through Matt’s adrenaline rush and impatiently he pulls the crime lord’s shirt up himself. The wound is leaking profusely and the best he can do is wrap the makeshift bandage around his waist a few times till he runs out of shirt. Pulling another piece of clothing off one of the bodies, Matt does the same for Vladimir’s leg - thankfully it’s not bleeding as bad, just enough to hinder the man’s walking.

 

“My hand.” Vladimir sounds stunned. Matt listens to the other man swallow, and repeat himself carefully, but this time, his voice came out hard, full of rage.

 

“My chertov (1) hand!”

 

Matt again repeats the process of finding more cloth, using his teeth to cut through the seam of a dead man’s shirt before ripping it into a long shred. He clambers back to Vladimir, kneeling and wrapping it tightly around the Russian’s hand. The bandage isn’t entirely useful, but it keeps it all together, and seems to be the last thing the Russian is worrying about. Vladimir attempts to get a grip on himself, despite the way his breathing remains shallow and his eyes have gone hollow.

 

More shouting can be heard from the back of the warehouse. “Vladimir, I need you to get up now. More men are coming, we can’t take another hit.”

 

“Yebat' ikh my vse yeshche mozhem borot'sya. (2)”

 

“That’s… not helpful. Hey, I need you stay with me here, alright? Come on, let’s get up.”

 

Matt hooks his hands under the Russian’s armpits and lifts him up. In the beginning both of them stumble as they try and keep balance, but soon enough Vladimir is on his own two feet, grasping Matt for dear life. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen sighs and picks up the chain once again, placing the weight around his shoulders and neck so he can keep his hold on his companion.

 

They drag themselves out the front entrance, as quiet as two embracing men with wounds and a chain can. Neither say anything, too busy either concentrating on what’s ahead or, well, dying to actually speak. Their feet slosh in the puddles and quickly the rain seeps into Vlad’s torn clothing. Shivers wrack throughout his body and Matt has to huddle the man closer to him in an attempt to shield him from the harsh rain.

 

Matt’s certain that no one has realized that the two have left the warehouse, most of the guards still searching where they left the bodies while the rest are trying to calm the workers down. He attempts to listen in on what they’re saying but between the pattering of rain and the distraction of keeping both himself and Vladimir upright it’s impossible to make out what little English they’re using, and the best he can understand are the obvious emotions: confusion, fear, adrenaline.

 

Matt tries not to let the flooding of emotions affect his perception ahead of him, but it’s hard. He can’t help it as his heart race increases and his body tenses up with every sound he hears. The hero tries rushing over to the boarded up gate, sensing a weak spot in the fence. Dragging his companion over to the gate, Matt and Vlad lean into the chain linked fence, attempting to push against the weaker, corroded parts of the metal.  The sharp, broken ends rip through Matt’s gloves and pierce his palms. The fence groans and the hero pushes himself off before it can break, Vladimir, on the other hand, does not. As Matt is balancing himself, the Russian falls hard onto the unforgiving ground landing with the now-collapsed metal of the fence digging into his side.

 

The Devil winces at the sound of impact, actually feeling sorry for the crime lord. He’s sure having a shit-ass day, he comments to himself before climbing over the fence after him.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Do I look okay, mudak?” He spits.

 

“I wouldn’t know, I can’t fucking see,” the hero mutters quietly, the words being drowned out by the pouring rain.

 

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen crouches in the rain, hands reaching out and grazing against wet gravel before they find Vladimir’s shoulder, which is trembling slightly from Vladimir trying to force himself up, but unable to fully lift himself off the ground.

 

“Come on,” Matt coaxes, attempting to be gentle when he wrapped his hands around Vladimir’s arms, pulling the man up into a standing position, while attempting to not completely entangle himself with Vladimir’s limbs as he does so.

 

A gun clicks behind them, making Matt tense at the realization someone’s found the two. One of the guards from Gao’s. Without thinking, the hero spins around, pulling Vladimir with him as they dodge the bullet. The Devil growls in anger, that same animalistic instinct climbing up through his chest and out his throat that he had with Fisk. Letting go of Vladimir, he stalks forward, grasping the chain that’s still connected to the Russian’s leg in his hands. He swings the heavy metal forward hitting the man straight in the chest. He falls on his back and Matt takes a sick pleasure in hearing the ripping of skin as it meets gravel.

 

The man scrambles for a moment, trying to gather his bearings but the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen sends one harsh kick to the gunman’s head. With the chain still in his hands, Matt wraps the links around the barely conscious man’s throat. Matt hears the struggles of the guard as he squirms against his bondings, slimy fingers rubbing against rusty metal links in an attempt to free himself. Choking emits from his lungs as he gasps for air and the Devil can’t help but revel in the sensation of it all. The slowing of his heartbeat, the already cooling of the body, the sound of his organs slowing down piece by piece, and before he knows it the struggles become faint whimpers and then all there is is silence.

 

Matt unwraps the chain from around the dead man’s throat, carefully placing it back over his shoulders. He feels his companion’s gaze on him, so he turns his head towards the intense stare.

 

“Yes?” He asks.

 

“Nothing, Devil. Let us leave,” Vladimir says, though Matt can hear the smugness in his tone.

 

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen wraps an arm around the crime lord’s body, making sure to not put pressure on his wounds as he does so. “I know just where to go.”

  
As the hero and the criminal begin to limp away, a fire begins to smoulder behind them, briefly increasing the smell of cocaine and corpses before the smoke smothers and chokes them out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Fuck them, we can still fight.  
> 2\. Fucking


	4. You Would Make Pretty Penny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vladimir flirts with Matt, and then Matt gets into trouble because he actually can't stay out of it.

He’d dragged Vladimir back to his apartment the night before, clumsily patching up the worst of Vladimir’s seeping injuries. He left  the man to pass out on his couch before carrying himself to bed, stripping out of his armor and all but collapsing when he finally hit the mattress.

 

Matt wakes up slowly, blinking his eyes open and dimly wishing to get a view of his ceiling instead of the usual darkness, but today obviously isn’t his lucky day. He can feel a bruise forming around the corner of his lips, no doubt from Vladimir’s punch the night before. The stiffness in his face it makes him wince slightly, rolling over in bed before straightening up into a sitting position, socked feet hitting the floor.

 

Foggy and Karen will be expecting results, since Matt had told them the day before that he’d take the address to the devil- and Matt’s realizing slowly that he doesn’t know what the hell he is doing.

 

Sinking, that’s what he’s doing. Sinking into a pit of burned-away crime and blood that tasted more like iron than copper. He rubs his face absentmindedly, palms scraping over his cheeks and fingers dragging over the dark circles under his eyes, exhaling slowly. Everything in the weary hero’s body is cracking with each breath he takes. Today’s going to be a long day, he groans inwardly.

 

He breaths in, mind filling with the sound of grating, rusted chains slipping together under pressure. Rain, bloodied fingers scraping to find purchase against the metal in his hands; Matt’s fingers curl into fists, subconsciously reflecting the motion that his mind supplies him. Rain beating in his ears and soft, choking breaths that sound more baited with every forceful inhale. Slowly, the man’s pulse begins to die, his organs begin to shut down from lack of oxygen...

 

There’s a crash from the living room that makes Matt’s head jerk up from being buried into his hands. Fuck, the hero curses to himself, bolting out of the bedroom, not really thinking about his lack of shirt and mask.

 

Vladimir's laying face-first on the floor, hands pressing against his sides and his arms struggling weakly to push himself up. The coffee table is wobbling like the Russian has hit it violently on his way down, rocking against the floor with an obnoxious rattle.

 

“Should have known you’d come running,” comes the pained voice from the floor, barely louder than a moan, and Matt presses his lips together in an attempt to mask a smile.

 

It shouldn’t be funny, but listening to the hitched breathing of the once great leader of the Russian mob makes the hero fight back a crooked grin - no doubt the man has been through enough. But god, Vladimir will need a fucking life alert button if he’s going to keep pushing himself like this.

 

“Well, I did hear a crash,” Matt countered.

 

“Are you going to continue standing there like big lump, or are you going to do something?” Vladimir’s voice is tight, pain obvious in every word but every ounce of pain’s matched equally with stubbornness. The Russian doesn’t want to ask for help, doesn’t want to need it, but it’s obvious want and need are two entirely different things.

 

“What do you want me to do?” It’s a fake sort of helpful, fake kindness. Matt just wants to see what the Russian would do.

 

“To… fuck off, mudak.” Less pain, more stubborn.

 

Matt sighs, but makes his way into the living room, tugging the coffee table away from from Vladimir’s crumpled body a few inches before circling it and kneeling down in front of the other man, gently pulling him onto his back.

 

“You shouldn’t have tried to get up.”

 

“You shouldn’t have.. You.. Look different than I expected.”

 

Matt stilled, his breath catching in his throat when he realizes he didn’t put on his mask before going to investigate the noise.

 

“Well, shit.”

 

“Not shit, you are handsome… Like dog.”

 

“That’s.. That doesn’t sound like a compliment, Vladimir.”

 

“English is odd, take it as you will, does not change fact,” the Russian brushes the vigilante’s confusion off.

 

Matt rolls his eyes, his shoulders tense from the thought of Vladimir Ranskahov knowing exactly what he looks like. Said crime lord, on the other hand, is raking his eyes over the hero’s body, enjoying every bump and scar he takes in. “You would have sold well,” he murmurs to himself.

 

“What?”

 

“In black market, you would have made good profit for me.”

 

That earns Vladimir a punch in the face that leaves Matt’s knuckles stinging.

 

“Radi trakhayet(1), what the fuck was that for?”

 

Matt’s pretty sure he just split the man’s lip right back open. He’s actually surprised at how much the man has healed overnight; there’s still a weakness surrounding him, muscle tremors and a heart that's still fighting to support the rest of his body, but blood has begun clotting into scabs in places that Matt would have thought needed stitches.  

 

“Take a wild guess.”

 

Matt shakes his hand out, the stinging in his knuckles beginning to subside slowly as the taste of copper hits the hair, giving the impression that blood had begun to dribble out of Vladimir’s mouth.

 

“You felt threatened,” Vladimir’s voice is thick with sarcasm, and he spits a wad of blood and saliva onto Matt’s carpet.

 

Matt isn’t looking for a pat on the back, though he’s hoping that Vladimir will give him a good reason that he kept the Russian alive. Either it be information on Gao or even on anyone else who might try to pick up Fisk’s business now that the criminal was gone - no, not gone, dead  - In all honestly, Matt just wants someone to prove him wrong, that he isn’t making a very bad decision in keeping the crime lord alive.

 

“I’m the only reason you’re alive, you know,”  he says evenly, off-handed.

 

“..Says man who left me in American sewer to die.”

 

“That was your choice.”

 

“Doesn’t make you responsible for my life. I owe you nothing.”

 

Matt purses his lips together, frowning slightly but not going to argue with the Russian. Before, he would have said that he didn’t want Vladimir to owe him anything, that he didn’t want anything to do with the Russian. But more and more things have happened as of late that Matt just can’t ignore. Changes have to be made, morals need to be...  Bent. Vladimir feeling gratitude or, more likely, debt towards Matt would have been very useful, though he isn’t surprised that the Russian doesn'.  

 

“I have to go to work. Are you going to run off?”

 

“No.” Vladimir’s heart rate doesn’t stutter, sink, or dip - but a moment later it picks up. A practiced liar, yes, but the Russian’s heartbeat went against his fluid tongue.

 

Matt shakes his head.

 

“You can stay here on my couch, or I can tie you up and leave you on the floor till I get back.”

 

“Chertov(2), I told you I would stay here,” Vladimir lies again, and Matt hates how easy the Russian makes his words sound, almost teasing - like he thought this is amusing.

 

“Alright.” Matt straightens up with a sigh and he turns around, padding back into his room; there’s a padlock on the trunk where he kept his old man’s boxing equipment. But it has long since been used. After making sure he still had the key, Matt brings it back into his living room.

 

Vladimir is still laying on his back, though he’s managed to scrape one leg up and his palms are digging into his eyes. When he hears Matt return, he glances over, trying to push himself up on his forearms and managing to get halfway into a sitting position.

 

Matt opens his hand, the ring of the padlock looped around his finger so it dangled obnoxiously; he can just feel Vladimir’s scowl.

 

“You said you were going to help me.”

 

“And you’re going to leave as soon as I get the chance unless I do this.”

 

“No, I won’t.”

 

Matt can’t help but roll his eyes, because Vladimir’s words turn from masterful lying to childish petulance so fluidly.

 

“Why would you stay?” Matt argues softly, his voice staying just on the urge of light. He’s not surprised, or entirely dismayed, he’s just tired and in need of a shower and coffee. When the crime lord doesn’t answer, Matt takes it upon himself to lay out the facts.

 

“You have no obligation to, and the chances of you finding anything to personally gain from this situation are slim to none. Cut the act, Vladimir.”

 

As he speaks, Matt kneels down and grabs the length of chain that is clasped around Vladimir’s ankle. He’ll have to take it off soon, but for now, it’s convenient.

 

He drags the chain a foot or so to the side, looping it around his radiator securely before pulling the padlock through three of the links, clicking it shut and tugging on it once to make sure it’s secure.

 

“You act very cautious, for man who brought me to his home and unmasked himself for me.”

 

Matt scowls at the Russian. “I wouldn’t have unmasked myself if you didn’t break my table.”

 

The blind man knows the criminal is grinning, he can tell it from how he says, “I should break table more often then. Your eyes… very pretty. The chest is nice plus, as well.”

 

The hero is somewhat surprised the Russian doesn’t bring up his blindness. Isn’t it obvious? Or has he undergone the role of “sighted” maybe? Ocularly equipped long enough to actually pass as normal?

 

“The lack of eyesight would bring your price down some… But still pretty penny.”

 

Or, he’s just an asshole.

 

“Can you stop appraising me? It’s… uncomfortable.”

 

“It is compliment, no? Well, perhaps your disability would boost up your particular case, being vigilante and all. Very impressive.”

 

“It’s not impressive, it’s just.. Circumstance.” Matt rubs the back of his neck before standing up, with the intention of getting away from Vladimir without seeming more uncomfortable than he actually is.

 

“It’s impressive,” Vladimir sounds certain, and Matt isn’t sure if the man is saying it to increase his discomfort or because he honestly believes it as truth. Matt doesn’t explain that it isn’t really him, doesn’t bother trying to articulate that he just fell subject to being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

 

Matt stays silent, breathes in and out as he turns around, absconding to his bathroom where he fumbles with the door briefly before managing to get it closed.

 

“..Sukin syn,(3)” Matt wishes he couldn’t still hear Vladimir through the door, through the space he’d so purposefully put between them.

 

“Konechno, on budet privlekatel'nym. Pochemu by yemu ne byt' privlekatel'nym?(4)”

 

Matt wishes he’d taken Russian instead of Spanish; Vladimir obviously thought that Matt was out of hearing-range, and seemed to be talking to himself, frustration leaking into his tones. But whatever Vladimir is  saying to himself, it's going to remain a secret.

 

He showers quickly, getting the idea that he’s already, most likely, late for work, though he hasn’t yet had his phone read him the time. The warm water hits his skin and Matt barely even registers the scalding heat, his mind already racing far ahead of himself in an attempt to figure out a game-plan from where he is. What’s he going to do with Vladimir, if the Russian’s so obviously not going to stay put unless Matt finds some form of leverage over him? What’s he going to tell Foggy and Karen about Zhou?

 

The last time they’ve spoken, Foggy thought that Matt was acting more like Landman and Zach than he should be; the idea bothers him as he scrubs his fingers through his hair. He cleans himself off quickly before shutting off the water, toweling off with movements being made clumsy from his hasty pace.

 

Dressing is another problem, as he’d failed to bring clothes into the bathroom with him when attempting to escape Vladimir - who Matt can still hear quietly mumbling to himself every now and then, though it sounds as if the Russian has crawled closer the radiator, investigating the padlock.

 

Matt wraps a towel around his waist and ducks out of the bathroom into his own room, tugging on fresh underwear and slacks before finding a clean dress shirt and jacket. His tie is no-where to be found, and Matt makes a slightly irritated noise, the crawling feeling he always gets when he misplaced something that it can be just in front of him and he wouldn’t know.

 

He puts on socks and shoes, managing to run his fingers through his hair in a way that seems to be socially acceptable before grabbing his glasses and his brief case fluidly.

 

“Do you see my tie?” Matt asks as he steps back into his living room, sliding his glasses into place to cover his eyes and subconsciously trailing his fingers over the bruise that Vladimir had left on the corner of his lips.

 

Vladimir makes an odd noise, but shakes his head a second later, with something that Matt assumes is resignation, because the Russian sighs, “On counter, beside your cane.”

 

Matt nods in thanks, picking up the the upper button against his neckline and steps around the remnants of his coffee table. His fingers flutter against the edge of the counter for a moment before they bump against his collapsed cane, and a moment his fingers graze against the silky fabric of his tie.

 

“Stay here,” Matt forgets to bite back the flippant words as he slips the tie around his neck and walks back towards his front door, undoing the bolt and chain lock before stepping outside and shutting it tightly behind him.

 

\---

 

He can hear Foggy’s heart beating, thundering in his chest long before he opens the door to their office. Sweat permeates the air, the saltiness of it all lands uncomfortably against his tastebuds. There’s something crumpled in his hands, papers… from the sound of it, most likely a news article or some magazine. The tense muscles jerk back and forth as Foggy stalks around his office space, not noticing Matt’s quiet entrance. Something’s wrong with his friend, it’s just a matter of moments until he finds out what exactly that something is.

 

“Foggy?”

 

“You,” his best friend snarls.

 

“Yes,” Matt confirms warily, “Me. What’s wrong?”

 

The blind man hears Foggy thrust the papers onto his desk even as he exclaims, “You honestly can act so calm? So… unaffected and normal after what you did? God, who are you?”

 

Matt’s heartbeat kicks up a pace, somewhat confused by his friend’s tone. He’s never heard Foggy sound this angry, not even when he found out about the Devil.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Foggy. Care to explain?”

 

“Fuck yes, we’re going to talk about this!”

 

Foggy grabs for the papers again, his sweaty palms smearing the letters on the pages he’s gripping. He doesn’t say anything to the man he thought to be his best friend, too busy pacing and flipping through the newspaper for the article he’s looking for. It’s not hard to find, he simply has to turn back to the front cover to read the glossy headline to the blind man.

 

“Just what the Hell is this, Matt? Daredevil: Friend or Foe? The Illustrious Story Behind Wilson Fisk’s Murder.”

 

Matt sets his cane down gently and walks over towards his best friend. “Foggy, I can explain.”

 

He jerks away from the so-called ‘hero’ and Matt makes sure to keep his distance, in hopes it will calm his friend down. “Yeah, you should have explained two days ago, asshole! Even though there’s not a single justifiable reason to kill someone.. dammit, Matt.”

There’s a pause, and Matt can hear Foggy running his hands through his hair, his breathing still upset and erratic.

 

“You really messed up this time.”

 

“I-” Matt swallows, but he’s painfully aware that whatever remorse he feels isn’t for his actions - it’s only because of how they have affected his friend’s mood.

 

“You wanted to kill him too, Foggy. I just did what you couldn’t,” Matt tries.

 

“Yeah, for a split second I thought about it, but I never actually thought I’d go through with it! You just killed a man in cold blood, Matt.”

 

“A very bad man. It had to be done, Foggy. I know you don’t see that way, but.. It had too.”

 

“No Matt, you had too.”

 

Matt takes a step back slowly, knuckles turning white around his cane as he inhales, before nodding once, sure of himself.

 

“Yeah, I did,” he agrees, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting when he tastes the new pang of salt in the air - not sweat, but tears.

 

“Foggy… I’m sorry,” Matt says quietly.

 

“No, you’re really not. I can read you like a book, Murdock… and something’s changed, really changed inside of you,” the disgust in his voice is easy to make out.

 

“I’m just trying to do what’s best for the city, Foggy,” Matt’s words are pained, but edging on defiant - he isn’t backing down, can’t back down. Not on this.

 

“I look at you and… I want to hate you. Hate what you’ve become. But when I look at you, I just see a broken man. You got rid of Fisk, yeah, but you also lost yourself on the way. You took this too far, Matt, I don’t- I don’t think I can be around to watch your downfall.”

 

Matt’s jaw is clenched, the muscle in his cheek jumping. “What are you saying, Foggy? Are you giving up on the firm again?”

 

“Don’t make me out to be the bad guy, I’m not the one who killed a man. And, no, I am not leaving the firm. You are.”

 

Matt’s not sure how to process what Foggy just said, hurt and anger mixing unsteadily in his chest. That’s when the office door opens and Karen sticks her head in, look at the two fighting friends. “Guys… I can hear you shouting all the way from the first floor. What’s going on?”

 

“Nothing, Karen. We’re finished here,” Foggy asserts.

 

“I can’t leave, Foggy, not when we still have an ongoing case, it’s unethical.”

 

“Unethical,” Foggy scoffs. “What a fucking hypocrite!”

 

“Foggy!” Karen gasps at how he’s treating his supposed best friend - she’d thought they’ve already worked through this, but maybe not.

 

He looks over at Karen, his usually cheerful face set in with a grim frown. “Sorry, Karen.” He looks over at the man he believed to be his best friend. “As for you, we finish this case up and that’s it. I want you gone.”

 

Matt nods curtly, his expression mirroring Foggy’s almost perfectly. He picks up his cane and heads out the door. He stops for a moment before saying, “The Devil went to the warehouse last night. It’s burned down, they’ve moved out before he could stop them.”

  
He shuts the door but that doesn’t stop him from hearing Foggy’s muttered, “Maybe making a deal with the Devil wasn’t the smartest idea, after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (3) ‘son of a bitch’  
> (4) ‘Of course he would be attractive. Why would he not be attractive?


	5. You Are No Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt runs into some interesting company and is given a proposition. Vlad has some conditions for our vigilante and is out to prove a point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys thanks for keeping up with us on this story, it's a fun one to write! The comments you leave are wonderful and we would love to hear more from you guys in the future to see how we're progressing and if we're going in a direction that either surprises you or one that you guys are expecting. Keep being awesome!

Matt’s shoulders slump with exhaustion when he finally steps out of his office, trying not to dwell on the idea that it’s the last time he’ll ever work there again. It’s not really, they still have to finish Zhou’s case, but Foggy’s words settle over him like a bag of bricks, not allowing him to see this as a bright side. It’s more like an ever present reminder of what he has to give up to protect his city.

 

Matt let’s himself become lost in his own thoughts, cane tapping idly in front of him as he makes his way back to his apartment, in no hurry to have to deal with the Russian he’s chained to his radiator.

 

So involved in his own muddled cogitation he almost doesn’t register the squeal and pull of thick tires as a car pulls up beside him until a window rolls down, that is until the click of a gun makes his head jerk up.

 

“You know, for a blind guy you’re pretty brutal. Not like any of those crack heads working for Gao,” comes the snarky voice of, surprisingly enough, Owsley.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Matt replies evenly.

 

“Cut the crap, I know you’re the - what are they calling you now? Daredevil? Whatever, I think it’d be in your best interest for you to get into the car now, son.”

 

“And why exactly would I do that?”

 

The car door pops open and Matt can hear the older man’s breathing. “Because if you don’t, you’re sure going to have a hard time taking down that snake of a bitch Gao and that little weasel Wesley.”

 

Matt still doesn’t get into the car, instead he holds his ground, standing tall with his cane propped out in front of him. The man in the car lets out of huff of frustration. “Okay, how about this for motivation, tough guy. I know your name is Matthew Murdock, best friend of Franklin ‘Foggy’ Nelson who hired the lovely Ms. Page. Now, I don’t think you need me to spell it out for you what me knowing your secret identity means, Mr. Murdock. Now, if you would, please get in the fucking car. You’re letting in all the city stench slink into my car.”

 

Matt weighs his options, but if anyone else notice the gun, or even just glances in his direction, they’ll most likely notice if a blind man disarms an elderly man in a car and makes a run for it. The gun waving towards his head spikes his adrenaline the same as it always does, but his mind is so exhausted that he barely translates it into anything more than an annoyance.

 

“Lord forbid allowing a blind man to be able to walk home safe,” he sighs, but nods once, turning and taking a step towards the car. His hand hovering for a moment as he searches for the door before his fingers close around the sharp metal edge, and he swings inside carefully, finding himself sitting face-to-face with the man in the car.

 

The gun is still pointed on him, but it wavers slightly, and Matt realizes that Owsley has little interest in actually shooting the hero, not now that he’s in the car.

 

“What do you want from me?” He asks casually, leaning back and balancing his cane across his knees, though his hands remain tight around the middle of his walking stick, preparing to use it as a weapon in case the man suddenly changes his interest in using the gun.

 

“I don’t like getting my hands my hands dirty.”

 

“Says the man holding a gun.”

 

Owsley sighs, and Matt gets the feeling the old man is rolling his eyes, though it’s a little harder to pick up on that small of a movement.

 

“You people are all the same, assholes who think they’re kings and princes and gods because they rule a little portion of Hell’s Kitchen. Do you know how many people consider themselves in charge of this shit hole? It’s absurd.”

 

Matt smiles dimly, entirely not in the mood to listen to small talk about his city.

 

“Maybe you didn’t hear me,” Matt repeats himself, “What do you want from me?”

 

“I don’t need anything from you, I want to help you.” Owsley says, and this time it’s Matt who fights the urge to roll his eyes. Instead he makes a noncommittal humming sound, which the scumbag takes as a good reason to continue.

 

“I have information on Gao’s little band of weirdo’s and Fisk’s lap dog - I thought I’d pass it onto you.”

 

Matt’s ears prick slightly, paying more attention, but he remains still, still suspecting a trap.

 

“Wesley is still in Hell’s Kitchen, of course. But the stupid boy really does despise the city, so, naturally he’s made arrangements to leave. I had to sift through the numbers for hours before I could make anything out for sure, but he seems to be funding an off-the-record pick up from some helicopter in two days.”

 

The car turns, and Matt makes a mental note from the way his knees sway slightly when they drive around a corner. Wherever their destination is might not end up being helpful, but if Matt could foresee the location before they get there, he may be slightly more prepared.

 

“Now, obviously you can’t have an illegal helicopter landing just anywhere, but I’ve had some... Information reported back to me from an upright source; told me that he’d be going out to use an old abandoned pad down in the slums.”

 

“An upright source in Hell’s Kitchen?” Matt can’t hide the sarcasm in his tone - it’s not really what he questions most out of Owsley’s story, but he can’t contain his skepticism any longer. For all he knows, this is a meeting point between Owsley and Wesley for Matt to get killed.

 

“I’m not asking your opinion, am I?” Owsley taps his finger against the side of the trigger on his gun, and Matt purses his lips.

 

“If I have to ask you what you want from me again, I trust you will understand when I also break your kneecap while I’m at it.”

 

There’s a shift in the air when Matt’s words settle in, and he’s left with a smug feeling when the smell of sweat enters through the air again. He better be nervous, Matt thinks grimly.

 

“I want you to kill James Wesley, and get rid of as many of Gao’s circus freaks as you can.”

 

Matt almost gives the old man credit - Owsley’s voice doesn’t tremor in the slightest, despite the way his heart begins beating at an unhealthy rate.

 

“I’m not a mercenary looking for cash,” Matt huffs indignantly.  

 

“And I’m not looking to solicit a murder. I’m just giving you what you need to make the city a better place… Think of me as your sponsor.”

 

Matt listens to the shift and crinkle of Owsley’s suit creasing when the old man leans forward, and Matt echoes his movements, matching the over-practiced posture shoulder to shoulder, refusing to back down from the challenge. The hero will be damned if he lets this scumbag out maneuver him.

 

There’s an unnervingly long stretch of silence before Owsley breaks it.

 

“Oh for the love of god,” Owsley sounds exasperated. “Hold your hand out.”

 

Matt lips crease downwards into a small frown, not liking the prospect of extending any limb towards the book keeper. It takes him a second before he slowly lifts his arm, thumb up and holding it out in front of him. He’s rewarded not with a handshake like he guessed, but with the cool, heavy weight of a handgun. It reeks of oil and from the weight of it, Matt can tell it’s fully loaded. His fingers curl around the cruel weapon, not quite sure what to do with it.

 

The car shifts to a halt, and Matt straightens up, realizing he’s lost track of exactly where they were. The driver announces that they are ‘here’, and Owsley immediately seems more relaxed. It doesn’t comfort Matt to know the little snake suddenly feels that they are on an even playing field.

 

“We are parked outside your apartment, where you will no doubt have a little while to mull things over. As an incentive, I’m giving my men instructions to keep watch on your friends Nelson and Page until you have completed my terms. When you’re done, I’ll leave you, and your friends, alone.”

 

Matt’s still frowning, but Owsley opens the door nearest to Matt pointedly. He doesn’t know what to do besides tuck the gun into his waistband underneath his suit jacket and slip out of the vehicle. He steps outside and bumps his cane against the curb before heading onto the sidewalk.

 

The car door shuts behind him without another word, and Matt is left in relative silence.

 

\---

 

“You know, I think I like suit on you.”

 

That’s the first thing Matt hears when he steps inside his apartment. His mind’s so bogged down by thoughts of his friends and the cool metal pressed against his back that he almost jumps when he hears it, having somehow almost forgotten the Russian he had saved and then promptly kidnapped. When did life get so complicated?

 

“Gee,” Matt manages, though his tone doesn’t have the hard, uncaring undercurrent that he wants it to convey, “do you really mean it?”

 

Vladimir snorts, and Matt toes off his shoes, shedding his suit jacket and loosening his tie as he makes his way into the living room. He sits down heavily on one of his chairs, not really giving his house guest much attention. Vladimir has pulled the table towards him a few inches, and Matt assumes the Russian has been inspecting it for anything to pick the padlock with.

 

Vladimir opens his mouth to retort something, no-doubt either something shallow about Matt’s appearance that will make his skin crawl or a complaint about his current living space, but Matt interrupts the Russian with one fluid movement.

 

He pulls the gun out of his waistband and leans forward in his chair to place it with a thud on the tabletop, listening to the way Vladimir shifts and sits up, both interested and unsure of the connotations behind Matt’s movement.

 

“You bought gun?” Vladimir asks, his Russian accent thick with complacency.

 

“Not exactly,” Matt says slowly, unsure of whether or not he should have shown it to the Russian at all. If push comes to shove, he’s certain Vladimir would shoot him. But Matt’s counting on Vladimir being smart, on Vladimir not killing him before he at least becomes free from the radiator.

 

“I want you to show me how to use it,” Matt states, leaning his cane against the chair beside him and running his hands through his hair. Vladimir’s interest and confusion turns into a focused reaction: excitement.

 

“What do I get out of it?” Vladimir asks.

 

“Don’t ask what I’m willing to give, that’s sloppy. Give me your terms, and I’ll counter them if necessary,” Matt responds without thinking, all but quoting one of his old law professors in the process.

 

“I don’t want to be chained to кусок дерьма(1) radiator,” Vladimir says instantly, and Matt raises an eyebrow. He isn’t sure how to say that he was expecting more without prompting Vladimir to ask for something ridiculous… Like his measurements or something equally disturbing.

 

“Or to anything else in your sranyy(2) apartment.”

 

“Can I trust that you will stay in my apartment if you aren’t chained?” Matt counters, and Vladimir pauses, obviously considering his options.

 

“How can you trust anything I say?” Vladimir asks, and Matt hates the way he sounds genuinely curious.

 

“I can tell if you’re lying,” Matt responds evenly, trying to keep his words vague.

 

“How?”

 

Matt exhales, frowning slightly. “Heartbeat,” he says after a moment of silence, and smirks slightly when Vladimir scoffs.

 

“Izhets(3)...” Vladimir mumbles, and Matt listens to the Russian duck his head, rubbing his neck.

 

“Are you going to agree to my terms, or are you going to sleep on the floor tonight?”

 

“I have slept in much worse.” Vladimir sounds annoyingly proud.

 

“..And it doesn’t sound like you’re gonna do better,” Matt sighs and stands up, grabbing the gun off the table and making his way back towards his bedroom. He makes it too the doorway before Vladimir finally speaks up.

 

“I’ll teach you how to use gun if you get chain off my ankle,” he says and Matt smiles crookedly, not bothering to turn around.

 

“Deal,” Matt says fluidly, and takes another step forward before he’s stopped again by Vladimir’s voice.

 

“And one more thing.”

 

Matt inhales, realizing he should have waited for the other shoe to drop before agreeing.

 

“Liquor store, on forty-eighth and ninth. You owe me two bottles of their Sibirskaya vodka.”

 

Matt lets out a shaky laugh, not expecting that. “Is that all?”

 

Vladimir hums in thought. “Come here,” he demands.

 

“No games, crime lord. What else do you want?”

 

“Take off the chain then I tell you,” he tries.

 

Matt stands there, giving the captive an unbelieving look. “Stop being a child and just tell me. This isn’t going to work out for you if you try to play games with me, Vladimir.”

 

“The thing I want is not harmful, simply… a question I need answered,” he sounds a little too confident, as if he knows Matt wants to partake in this game of risk.

 

He listens to the Russian’s heartbeat; steady, not wavering in the slightest as he vows no harm will come out of this arrangement. The vigilante nods once, not truly worried about freeing the man - mainly because what can he honestly do? He needs help to even stand up straight, let alone leave the apartment or attack somebody.

 

Matt goes and grabs the key to the padlock, but while he’s scouring through the old chest his hands graze past something better. A lockpick. It’ll be easier to just take the entire chain off Vladimir’s foot instead of having to drag the thing around for the next few… days? Weeks? He isn’t quite sure how long the fugitive will be staying here, but it’ll take time to at least heal the major wounds.

 

The hero walks back into the living room, heading over to the radiator. Without saying a word, he crouches down and takes hold of Vladimir’s foot, knocking him off balance a bit.

 

“Hey, be careful would you, Mudak.”

 

Matt pays the words no mind as he focuses on the sound of tumblers being shifted from the clasp around his ankles lock. Lockpicking has always been easy for the blind man, Stick had taught him early on that there are many ways to use his hearing to his advantage. Breaking and entering had been one of them. It doesn’t take long before there’s a click and the lock pops open.

 

Matt straightens up, and he can feel Vladimir’s calculating eyes on him, most likely trying to decide whether the blind man’s actually going to let him be free.

 

“What’s your question?”

 

He hears him shuffle, coming closer to Matt. “What kind of man are you?” He mutters, grabbing his captor by the shirt.

 

Matt rocks forward, honestly not expecting Vladimir to attack him so stupidly. He tenses his muscles, preparing to block the Russian’s attempt when dry lips press against his own. A grunt escapes his mouth, confused and surprised at being kissed, but that doesn’t stop Vladimir from sliding his tongue into the befuddled man’s mouth.

 

“What -” he tries, but Vlad leans in, tilting his head just the right way to keep Matt’s mouth occupied. Matt isn’t sure whether to hate the fact that he’s letting it happen, or to lean into the crime lord’s warm mouth.

 

Vladimir’s hands find the front of his suit, warm palms pressing into his chest, and Matt almost reciprocates, almost managing to truly embarrass himself. But before he can, Vladimir pulls away. Without meaning to the hero follows after him, his body deciding that it wants to continue the kiss.

 

Matt can just feel the smugness radiating off the Russian.

 

“Shut up,” he grunts, pushing himself off the criminal.

 

“You look even prettier flustered,” Vlad purrs, licking his slightly bruised lips. The hero can bite, it seems.

 

Matt wishes he can control the flush that tints his cheeks at Vladimir’s voice, the sultry tone that makes him want to continue… whatever that just was. His brain tries to get him to snap and pull away, but a foolishly convincing part of his brain feeds him almost thoughtless reasons why he shouldn’t. Foggy isn’t his friend anymore, Matt doesn’t have the other man’s voice in his conscience, and he’s already killed for the Russian.

 

“You’re a dick.” Matt says bluntly.

 

“And you are killer.”

 

Matt thinks the words should sting, but they don’t even register as an insult… simply a statement of facts. Vlad is a dick and Matt is a killer, though the roles can easily be interchanged.

 

“So did that answer your question? Seemed more like an excuse to kiss me.”

 

“Yes. You are no hero. Just devil. The kiss was just plus.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Piece of shit  
> 2\. shit  
> 3\. liar

**Author's Note:**

> Once again feel free to comment and stop on by to our group chat! We really want you all to join just friend me at gracefuldarkness on skype.


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